


Like a Virgin

by StormDancer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touched for the very first time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Virgin

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Oh, harry and zayn having sex for the first time and zayn feeling nervous because he's never been with a guy before"
> 
> Don't own, don't know, etc.

It’s not like it’d be his first time really, Zayn rationalizes to himself, as he stares at his phone from his hotel bed. He’s had sex before. He’s had loads of sex before, he’s had so much sex before. He’s good at it. Well, no one’s ever complained, and some of the girls have said he’s good, even _after_ they’ve come. One girl even told him he was the best she ever had, and he knew it was a lie because it’s always a lie when you’re showing them out of your hotel room, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a nice thing to hear.

It’s on the wave of that thought that he picks up his phone and shoots off a quick _want to come to mine?_ text to Harry. There, he thinks. Casual. Not like he’s been thinking about it for hours, while Harry went off to the bar with some of the crew and the other lads. For weeks, while he watched Harry dance across the stage, watched him soak in the stage lights and reflect them back even brighter. Watched him shake his ass and rolls his hips and bite at his lips, making the crowds yell, then turning to give Zayn a smirk, like he knew it hit him too. For days, since Harry finally pulled him into a corner of the airport before they split up for different flights and kissed him, a quick, almost frantic thing that left Zayn breathless as no one he’d kissed before ever had, before he disappeared with a “think about it”.

He’d call Harry a tease—and he is—but it’s not just that. It’s the realization, maybe, of how long this is something he’s wanted, even if he never noticed it. That maybe he always noticed, in a passive sort of way, Louis’s ass and Liam’s arms and Niall’s back and Harry’s… everything, that he looked at guys and _saw_ them, not just the fact of them. That maybe sometimes he looked at lips lined in stubble and thought, I could kiss that.

There’s a knock at the door. Fuck. Zayn should have changed, probably. Put on tight jeans instead of his sweats, something that made his ass look better, he guesses. Should have taken off his too-big old jumper and put his hair up and made himself into Zayn Malik, not this boy whose lips are already raw with how much he’s been biting at them.

But it’s too late for that. If he keeps Harry waiting he’ll know he’s been fussing. So Zayn gets up, walks to the door, and opens it.

Harry’s standing there—of course—probably in the same clothes he wore to go out, his stupidly skintight jeans and open shirt and his hair pulled back with one of his stupid scarves, and Zayn’s mouth goes a little dry at the sight. The smile he’s wearing doesn’t help, a little thing that’s more a question than anything else.

They stand in silence for a second. Of course, it’s Harry who talks first. It’s always him who talks first. “Well?” he asks, slow like his voice always is, like he’s considering every word. “Thought about it?”

Zayn swallows, but it’s not just about the nerves. “Yeah,” he replies, and steps back to let Harry step in. He closes the door behind him, then leans against it, like he needs the wall to brace himself. This could be the stupidest decision he’s ever made. If he fucks this up… if this goes south it could take the whole band with it. Even if it doesn’t, he could lose the parts of Harry he has now, the cuddling on the bus and stupid banter in the mornings before either of them is really awake and the jokes between just the two of them.

“And?” Harry prompts, when it looks like Zayn’s not going to say anything more. He looks so relaxed, so easy in the middle of the room, like this isn’t the hardest thing he’s ever done. It probably isn’t, actually. Harry’s never made a secret of his sexuality, for all he hasn’t bragged about his sex life since he was seventeen.

But he also looks so fucking good, with hair Zayn wants to try pulling on and full, pink lips Zayn wants to taste again. “Yeah,” he says. Nods to himself. “Yeah.”

Harry smiles then, and it’s a real smile, his big dimpling one, like nothing’s ever pleased him more than Zayn saying yes. But he moves slowly still, because he does know Zayn, knows it takes him a while to make up his mind sometimes. So it’s like he’s moving through water as he comes to Zayn, and Zayn watches him with his fingers digging into his thighs. He can do this. He wants this. He’ll—it’s Harry, he’ll understand if something—if Zayn does something wrong, or doesn’t—

“You’re thinking too much,” Harry whines, that funny whine thing he does when he’s really too happy to complain but thinks he should anyway. He puts a hand beneath Zayn’s chin and tilts his head up, so he has to look at Harry’s face, though he can’t decide if he wants to look into his eyes or at those full lips.

Harry doesn’t seem to have that problem, because he shifts his hand so that he can trace Zayn’s lip with his thumb, staring at the picture they make there. “Sorry,” Zayn replies, his lips moving Harry’s finger with them. He’s already messing this up, fuck.

“I can help with that,” Harry breathes, and then his thumb is replaced by his lips.

It’s not like that kiss in the airport, when Harry had seemed like he would have died if he hadn’t kissed Zayn then, when Zayn had been taken so totally by surprise he hadn’t done anything before Harry was pulling away again. This time, Harry’s careful, his hands on Zayn’s hips, keeping some space between them, his lips moving almost politely over Zayn’s.

It’s nice. It’s not what Zayn wants.

He can do this, he reminds himself, and does.

He grabs at Harry’s hair and tangles his fingers in it, brings him down like he used to do when his girlfriends wore heels, and pulls them together, biting at Harry’s lip. It’s not kissing like he’s used to, having a bigger body to push against, Harry’s lips rougher than most of the girls Zayn’s been with, his face broader, with a hint of stubble around his jaw. But oh, it’s good, and when Harry moans, a long low sound right into his mouth, and opens his mouth for their tongues to slide together, it’s even better. Harry lets go of Zayn’s hips to push him back, into the door, until they’re pressed so close they can’t move. It’s a new thing, feeling like he can’t move, like he’s pinned down by the thickness of Harry’s chest and the firmness of his body, but he likes it, even as he pushes back, gives as good as he gets.

Then Harry gets his hands on Zayn’s ass and he moans. He’s been with girls who were forward like that before, who touched him everywhere, but they’re nothing in comparison to how Harry’s big hands are kneading, pulling him into him so he can feel where Harry’s getting hard. Zayn does the only thing he can think to do and kisses Harry again, harder, and Harry seems to take that as a message because he uses his hands on Zayn’s ass to pull him up.

Zayn’s legs wrap around Harry almost automatically, but Zayn still pulls away from Harry’s lips. “If you drop me…” he warns, because he doesn’t trust Harry not to, not when he’s the one who has to pick him up off the floor half the time. But Harry just laughs and kisses at Zayn’s neck, his teeth scraping over the skin, and it distracts Zayn enough that he’s taken by surprise when Harry does drop him, onto the bed.

“What you going to do?” Harry asks, like a dare, and climbs onto him, his legs straddling Zayn’s hips.

This part Zayn knows, and he cages Harry’s hips with his hands as he smiles up at him. It’s nothing they haven’t done before. Not the promise of more, but the flirting and the laughter and the challenge. But—he doesn’t know how to follow through, this time. He doesn’t know what to do. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he retorts instead, and it must be enough because Harry kisses him again, hard enough that he’s pressed back down into the bed.

Zayn’s good with this part, the kissing and all, even with how Harry moves down his neck and hints of stubble scrape across his collarbone. It makes Zayn arch his back, tilt his head so Harry can have better access, and he hears Harry’s hiss of triumph as he bites down. But Harry also keeps grinding his hips against Zayn’s and it’s not like Zayn hasn’t, like, danced with other guys before, but there’s purpose here, a real intent that has Zayn quivering as Harry moves down to stretch Zayn’s t-shirt out so he can bite at Zayn’s collarbone.

Then he sits back up, and just smiles down at Zayn. His hair’s a mess around his face—his headscarf’s disappeared somewhere—and his lips are swollen and his eyes are a bit wild and Zayn thinks he’ll dream of this moment, or maybe he has already. “Shirt off,” he decides.

Zayn still knows this part, and he lets Harry ease his shirt off, raises his arms to help. But the look in Harry’s eyes when the shirt is off—he knows it too, he guesses, knows the heat, but somehow it’s different when it’s Harry looking. When Harry settles back onto his heels just to look, and his weight is right over Zayn’s groin with a horrible sort of wonderful pressure.

He manages a smile, because he can be cocky too. “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Zayn drawls.

Harry grins at that. “Couldn’t look, then, could I?” he retorts, and leans down. His hair falls around his face like a girl’s, but his stubble (what little he can grow) is scraping against Zayn’s chest, and the feel of it, of Harry’s hard body dragging over his, of Harry’s lips and tongue and teeth tasting Zayn’s chest, down to his abs, is making Zayn squirm like he never has before. He doesn’t know if it’s Harry being a boy or just Harry being Harry, but he’s got his hands fisted in the sheets and he’s biting down on his lip so he doesn’t say anything stupid.

Harry circles Zayn’s belly button with his tongue, then sits up, tilts his head a little like he’s confused. “You can touch,” he says, and drops a hand over Zayn’s hand. “If you want. I don’t mind, or whatever. Pretty clearly.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Zayn refuses to blush. He hadn’t—he just didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “You okay, Zayn?” he asks. It’s weird, in this context, Harry asking that while straddling him, Zayn achingly hard under his weight. “If you don’t want to do this, I’m not…”

No. Zayn knows that much, at least. So he smirks, puts on all the bravado he’s ever used on stage or off, and props himself up on his elbows. “’m fine,” he tells Harry, “But you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Harry grins at that, and unbuttons his shirt and throws it away without a second’s thought. It’s nothing Zayn hasn’t seen before, a million times, but it’s still…he reaches out a hand to trace over his abs, up to the moth, over his pecs. Harry’s quivering under his touch, and when, daringly, Zayn flicks at a nipple—Harry likes that, he thinks he remembers, could guess—Harry moans.

“Fuck, okay,” he says, and dives back into Zayn, kissing at his neck as Zayn explores the skin of his back, how the broad muscles shift there. How solid he feels, bigger than Zayn. Zayn’s hips are jerking against Harry’s thigh, and Harry’s are jerking back and he can feel Harry through his jeans, which means Harry can feel him and what if he shouldn’t—what if he’s going to fast or too slow or—

“Too many clothes still,” Harry mutters, and lays a final bite to Zayn’s collar before he’s getting off of Zayn to pull his jeans off. He’s not wearing anything underneath, of course, and so suddenly it’s just—there’s all of him, standing in front of Zayn.

It also isn’t anything Zayn hasn’t seen before, because even without Harry’s penchant for being naked, they’ve gone through quick changes and slow changes and everything together, and they’ve all seen each other naked more times than they can count. But now Harry’s hard, his cock jutting out thick and veined from his body, and it’s just there. Should Zayn be doing something? He knows what he likes girls to do to him, he could probably give an okay blowjob, but does Harry expect that? Or do they jump right to fucking?

“Now you,” Harry urges, and again Zayn wills away his blush as he pulls off his own sweats.

At least Harry’s staring too, wide-eyed, but with more than a hint of a smile, like he’s pleased with what he sees. Zayn hopes he is. He knows he’s attractive to girls, but he doesn’t know—do guys have different types? Harry’s all thickness, thick thighs thick shoulders thick cock, and Zayn’s always been wirier.

Then Harry lets out a long, low breath. “Fuck, Zayn,” he breathes, and Zayn can feel it in his bones, it feels like, “How are you always so gorgeous?”

“Practice?” Zayn retorts, and Harry laughs as he covers him with his body again, kissing him thoroughly. Then their cocks brush against each other, and Zayn hisses at the feel of it, arching his back. He could come on that, fuck, the feel of them rubbing against each other.

Harry grins against his mouth and ruts back down, so it happens again, and Zayn can’t help the moan that escapes him. But this, this isn’t anything, he knows this isn’t, he’s done, well, some research. He doesn’t want to be that guy, who won’t—who won’t follow through. He won’t be. But he doesn’t know where to go next. He wants to touch, to explore, to see what he can get Harry to do, but he doesn’t know how to ask, how to say.

Something of that must translate to his kiss, or maybe Harry just knows him that well, because he pulls off of him one more time. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again. It’s almost funny, his concerned face when his hard cock is bobbing against his stomach.

“Yeah, Haz, I’m fine.”

“Because you’re acting weird. I don’t want this to be weird. It isn’t supposed to be weird, it’s supposed to be…” Harry bites at his lip and looks down. Which is also weird, because that means he’s looking at his cock. “I didn’t want to push you into anything, I just thought maybe now, because you were single, and I wanted…but you don’t…you can say no. I won’t be, well, I will be, but it won’t…”

And now Harry’s looking sad, looking a little broken, and shit. Zayn should have known it would come to this. Of course he’s messing things up. But he thinks he knows how to distract things.

“No, Harry.” He sits up a bit too, pushing himself up on his arms so now it’s more like Harry’s sitting in his lap and he can tilt his chin up to kiss him. “No, I want you, I’m sorry I’m being weird.” He kisses Harry again, long and slow, and he might not know gay sex but he knows this, knows how to kiss someone until they’ve forgotten everything else. “I want you,” he whispers again, when they separate, and he can feel Harry smile until he doesn’t have a choice but to poke at his dimple.

As soon as he’s done it, he’s sure it’s stupid and Harry will laugh, or something, but instead Harry just kisses him again, harder, so they tumble backwards. “Fuck, Zayn,” Harry pants, pressing kisses to his jaw, “You can’t just say things like that, it’s not fair, fuck, I just really want to…” he lifts his head up from his chest. “Can we, like, can I…”

Zayn’s not sure what he’s asking, but it can’t—it’s Harry, he trusts Harry to the bone or he wouldn’t be here. “Yeah,” he agrees, and Harry kisses him messily before he pulls away to rummage in his discarded jeans. He comes out with a condom and lube. Oh. That’s what he’s asking.

But it’s not…Zayn does want that, he thinks. No, he does. He’s watched porn, when he realized that maybe this is a thing he wanted, and it turned him on. He’s okay with this. Harry knows what he’s doing, it’ll be good. Zayn’ll just…it’ll be fine.

Harry climbs back on the bed. He really is so hot, with his shoulders and his waist and those laurels leading right to his cock. Yes. Zayn does want this, he tells himself, and makes himself smirk at Harry.

“How do you want to be?” Harry asks.

“However you want.” It’s better than, I have no idea.

Harry gives him a sideways look, but then it turns into a leer. “Okay, hands and knees, if that’s okay.”

Zayn swallows, and rolls over. It’s… he’s not sure how he feels, being on display like this, knowing Harry’s looking at his ass. Not that he has an ass to look at. Should he be tilting more? What is he supposed to do with his head?

“Zayn…” Harry lets out another low moan, and trails a hand over Zayn’s spine. Zayn’s back arches with it, following the curve. “God, I’ve wanted this.” There’s a sound of the lube opening, and Zayn braces himself. He knows what’s supposed to come next.

Sure enough, Harry’s fingers are spreading his cheeks, and a finger’s pushing into him. It’s weird, invasive; it doesn’t hurt yet but knowing that it’s going to almost makes a phantom pain appear. Harry slides his finger in and out a few times, and he’s pressing biting kisses at Zayn’s ass and spine, and then he adds another one, and it is bigger and it’s stretching and he does that once, twice, and this time the pain isn’t a phantom, it’s a real thing, and then there’s another and it’s so much it’s too much Zayn can’t—

“Fuck, stop, Harry, stop!”

Harry jerks back, and Zayn’s scrambling away, up the bed so he can bring his knees to his chest and bury his head in his knees to take a few deep, calming breaths to center himself, to will the panic away. Fuck. Fucking hell. Which is ironic, really. Now he really has fucked everything up. God, he knew it was going to get better, everyone said it was, he couldn’t have just sucked it up…

“Zayn?” Harry’s voice is tentative. He doesn’t sound mad. He probably isn’t, but he’s probably hurt. He probably thinks he did something wrong. Fuck. “Zayn, are you okay? I didn’t mean to…If you don’t want…”

Zayn takes one more deep breath, and looks up. Harry’s hovering at the other end of the bed. He looks sex-mussed, his hair a riot of curls and his lips swollen, but there’s no mistaking the concern in his gaze, even if he is hard and three of his fingers are shiny with lube.

“No.” Zayn takes a deep breath. “No, sorry, it’s my fault. I should have…” He doesn’t know what he should have done. Been better?

“No.” Harry says it fiercely, shaking his head. “No, Zayn, you shouldn’t have, there’s never a should in sex.” It doesn’t really make sense, except for how it does. “Now what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Zayn shakes his head. But he knows Harry, and he knows Harry won’t be put off by that. So he drops his head into his knees again, to mutter his explanation.

“Zayn…”

“I just, I haven’t, like, done that before.” Zayn chances a look at Harry, and he’s just looking confused.

“Do you want to top? That’s fine, I do either, you should have said.”

“No, like.” Zayn swallows. God. He doesn’t want to top either, then he’d probably end up hurting Harry. “Like, anything.”

“I know you’ve had sex before, Zayn.”

“Yeah, but, not…like, not with a guy.” He ducks his head again. He doesn’t want to see Harry’s reaction. Shit, he shouldn’t have done this, should have just said no, or just powered through it. He knows it would have been good. Harry would have made it good. He could have been good.

“Never?” Harry sounds almost choked.

“Never,” Zayn confirms.

“Never?”

“Yes, never, can we move on now?” Zayn spits, looking up. He knows it’s stupid, he’s past twenty and he didn’t know this was something he wanted, Harry doesn’t need to fucking rub it in.

But Harry doesn’t look like he’s rubbing anything in. He just looks shocked. “But…you said yes?” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t…you let me kiss you, at the airport.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve looked, I know I’ve seen you looking, it’s not—I didn’t think I was imagining it, I really didn’t.”

“Well, you noticed before I did, yeah?”

“Never?” Harry says again. Zayn bites on his lip.

“No. Don’t know why you’re surprised, you’d have known if there was, like, anyone. I’d have had to tell management.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry swallows, this time. He makes a move like he’d want to go to Zayn, then stops. “I knew there hadn’t really been anyone, but I figured you’d fooled around with guys before. I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have done anything, if I hadn’t… really? No one?”

“Dammit, Harry—”

“No!” Harry holds up his hands like he’s warding off something. “I just, you’re so hot. Guys must have made passes at you before. I think I’ve seen guys make passes at you before.”

Zayn thinks back and yeah, of course they had. And maybe he had taken more interest in it, considered it more than he might have otherwise, but how was he supposed to know that wasn’t what everyone did? An offer for a blowjob was an offer for a blowjob, wasn’t it?

“None of them ever made me think about it.” Zayn shrugs. “You did.”

“Fuck, Zayn.” It’s Harry’s turn to drop his head.

“What?”

“You can’t just go saying that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to be good, I really am.” Harry lifts his head, and his eyes are wide and a bit glassy and he looks devastatingly turned on. “And you’re having a sexuality crisis and I’m trying to be good and listen and all but you can’t say things like that and expect me not to kiss you.”

Zayn blinks. Fuck. “Do you not want to kiss me anymore?” he asks. He shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it.

“’course I do.” Harry says it so dismissively it’s hard for Zayn not to believe him. “I always want to kiss you. But I’m giving you space.”

That’s not something he ever thought he’d hear Harry say. “Why?”

“Because…” Harry trails off. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what? I have no idea what I’m doing?” Zayn mutters it, looking down at his knees. “Didn’t want, I mean, like, I didn’t want to mess everything up. Already did, though.”

“Zayn.” Harry’s voice sounds choked again, and when Zayn steals a glance he’s on his knees, like he means to move. “Zayn, you aren’t. You didn’t.”

“Did, though.” Zayn screws his eyes closed, and hugs his knees tighter. God. He wishes he could take back all of tonight, ask for a do over, so he can not be humiliated completely. “Everything was fine until I said something.”

“Until you told me to stop.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

There is movement, and then Harry’s next to him, snuggling in close like they always do, except for how their skin is bare and pressed together from knee to shoulder, and Zayn’s dick is starting to take notice again. “Do you want me to stop everything?” Harry asks. “No pressure. I’ll do whatever you want. We can stop now, we can forget this happened, or I can introduce you to other guys who are discreet—”

He’s starting to babble, so Zayn cuts him off. “No. I want this. I said yes, and I meant it.”

Harry’s not meeting his eyes. It’s okay, because Zayn doesn’t much want to meet his eyes, either. “You’re allowed to change your mind.”

“I don’t want to,” Zayn tells his knees. “I mean, I want you, I do. Like, I know that, I figured that out. It was just…fast.”

“Okay.” And now Harry is smiling, Zayn can tell out of the corners of his eyes. “Then we can go whatever speed you want.” This time it’s his turn to tilt Zayn’s head up, and he presses a quick closed-mouth kiss to Zayn’s lips. “Good?”

“Harry.”

“Okay, then.” Harry kisses him again, longer this time, his tongue running over Zayn’s lip once before he pulls away. “Good?”

“ _Harry_.”

Harry kisses him again, and this time when Zayn opens his mouth Harry’s tongue slips in and they’re really kissing, and Zayn forgets to hold onto his knees in favor of licking into Harry’s mouth. As soon as he lets go, Harry rolls so he’s on top of Zayn again, and Zayn’s remembering how good this felt, especially now that Harry’s going slow, taking his time as he grinds slowly against Zayn.

Zayn’s panting when Harry pulls back this time, grinning his know-it-all smug grin. “Good?”

“Fuck you,” Zayn retorts, and pulls him down again. They kiss for a long, long time, Harry letting Zayn go over his back and ass and thighs with his hands, feeling the different planes of his body.

“What do you want?” Harry asks, as he kisses Zayn’s cheekbones.

Harry’s cock is thick and hard against his thigh. “I want you to fuck me,” Zayn says, evenly.

Harry stops kissing Zayn to prop himself up with one hand, so he can look seriously down at him. “You sure? We can do other things. You’ve never had a blowjob from a guy, it’s—”

“Want you to fuck me,” Zayn repeats. He does. He wants this. He wants Harry. He trusts Harry, and he wants him. “Just…”

“Just what?”

“Just maybe not like that?” Zayn bites at his lip, until Harry nips at it. “I didn’t…it was weird.”

“Whatever you want. Want to be on your back, or front? Or really, if you’re not comfortable, we can—”

“Do you not want this?” Zayn asks, suddenly. That’s what this is sounding like. God, he knew it, Harry had been putting up a good front but he was probably—

“I do!” Harry protests. “I’m just…I mean, it’s…” he buries his head in Zayn’s shoulder to mutter the rest. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

“You’ll do better than me, for sure.”

“No, I mean,” Harry lifts his head up. He’s flushed from more than just sex. It’s somehow comforting. “I want you to like this. Want you to…”

“To?”

“To want to do it more,” Harry says, quietly. “With me, preferably.”

Zayn grins. He can’t not. “That’s why I want to do it with you,” he tells Harry. “Now come on, Styles, hear you’re some kind of sex god. Show me what you got.”

“Oh I’ll show you,” Harry promises, grinning again. “On your back, I think. Want to be able to see you.”

Zayn nods, and lays himself out as Harry goes to retrieve the lube and condom. It’s only when Harry is coming back that the nerves hit again. This is where it went wrong before, what if he can’t do it again? What if something goes wrong? What if he can’t—

“Hey.” Harry kisses him. “Stop thinking. You’ll be good. You couldn’t not.”

“Pretty sure we have evidence to the contrary,” Zayn mutters, but then Harry just grins mischievously and suddenly Zayn’s cock is being swallowed down. Zayn moans and arches against the sheet. “Fuck, Haz, thought you were going to—”

“’m relaxing you,” Harry informs him, pulling off for a moment. “Now shut up, I’m concentrating.”

“Sorry, am I disturbing—fuck!” he swears again as Harry sucks. He doesn’t put his hands in his hair, because he doesn’t know how Harry would feel about that, so instead he just fists them in the sheets and tries his hardest not to thrust into Harry’s face. It’s not long before Harry’s got him swearing in a low steady stream, and he doesn’t even notice when Harry’s first finger slides in until it’s there.

Harry just holds it there for a moment, licking idly at Zayn’s cock as Zayn adjusts to the feel of it, circling his hips experimentally. It’s only then that he starts to move it, easing it in and out slowly, gently, until Zayn’s squirming. He needs… something. More.

When Zayn mumbles something to that effect, Harry adds another finger, repeating the same process. But this time, once Zayn is used to it, he scissors his fingers, opening Zayn up more but he feels complete, somehow, not in pain, and then one of Harry’s fingers brushes some spot and Zayn goes white-hot, his hips thrusting uncontrollably.

“There we go,” Harry hums, and curves his fingers into the spot again, rubbing against it as Zayn groans and squirms. “Okay, gonna add a third, you good?”

“Fuck, Harry, please—”

The third finger isn’t as bad, this time, not when Zayn’s already seeing stars and is so turned on he can barely think about how it’s supposed to hurt, and the full is starting to feel good instead of wrong. “Harry,” he breathes out. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but he knows he still needs that more.

“Okay.” Harry pulls his fingers out and Zayn could almost sob. He feels empty, aching, and his cock is painfully hard and he just wants—

He can hear the condom wrapper rip, and knows Harry’s putting it on. Then Harry’s ranged over him again, guiding his legs up to wrap around his waist. “This is going to hurt,” Harry warns, his brow furrowing. “I can’t do anything about that, and I promise it’ll feel good after, but it’s going to—”

“Just fucking fuck me already,” Zayn grits out. He can see Harry’s cock, red and wet, can feel it brushing against his balls. He wants.

Harry’s laughing when he kisses Zayn, then he pushes in.

Zayn breathes out, hard, at how his rim is being pushed open, too far too hard, and Harry freezes. “Zayn?” Harry’s face is screwed up in concern, and probably also from holding himself like this, and it gives Zayn enough of a rush that he gives another long exhale to relax himself, and nods. It’s Harry. Harry won’t hurt him. He trusts Harry with his life.

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, go on, just, like, slow.”

So Harry goes slow, excruciatingly slow, until he’s all the way in Zayn. It’s…weird. It doesn’t even hurt, it’s just weird, and a bit uncomfortable, and Zayn can’t help the _wrong wrong wrong_ that’s echoing through his head.

“Let yourself get used to it,” Harry murmurs, and leans down to kiss Zayn again, almost lazily, like he doesn’t mind doing it forever, even though Zayn can feel his thighs quivering with the effort of holding himself back. God, but he loves him for that, and so he kisses Harry back, long and slow until he’s forgotten to be uncomfortable, has lost himself in the sweet taste of Harry’s mouth.

He starts to circle his hips, experimentally almost, and Harry moans into his mouth before he bites it off. “Sorry,” Harry mutters. “Sorry, I’m not—” Zayn circles his hips again, and Harry make that same noise but higher.

“Can you…” Zayn doesn’t know what he wants, again, and he hates it, but he can feel the arousal curling in him, and he needs—“I don’t know, just, please—”

“If you insist,” Harry quips, and his hips drag slowly up and down, and the pain’s going now so it’s just the heat in him, and then Harry hits his prostate again and it’s Zayn’s turn to moan, his head tipping back helplessly.

Harry keeps thrusting in those torturously slow strokes, burying his head in Zayn’s neck with little panting whines that at least let Zayn know he’s as turned on as Zayn is, kissing at his skin between breaths. Zayn can only hear about half of what he’s saying, but what he gets make the heat grow until he’s nearly shaking, “So good” and “please, Zayn,” and “God wanted—so long” and “fuck you’re so—”

“Harry,” Zayn groans, as Harry thrusts in him again. He can feel himself teetering, feel the orgasm in his toes, in the clenching muscles of his calves, “Please—”

Harry lifts his head with a grin, then reaches between them to get a hand on Zayn’s cock. It’s electric, the touch; Zayn hadn’t really noticed how achingly hard he was until Harry touched him, jerking him off to the same pace as he thrusts in, slowly and relentlessly until Zayn’s whole body is shaking, and he comes on a groan, his fingers clenched onto Harry’s shoulders.

He goes lax into the sheets, and Harry goes with him, easing him down with the sort of gentleness he usually reserves for children. Zayn should object, he thinks vaguely, drifting; should probably reciprocate, do something, but Harry’s easing himself out as carefully as he eased himself in, and Zayn’s feeling so loose and open and buzzed that he reaches out to grab the nearest part of Harry—his hair—and tugs him in to kiss him.

Harry moves in easily, lets him kiss him soft and sweet until Zayn’s regained some brainpower, and he can feel Harry’s erection pressing against his thigh.

“Shit, Harry, sorry,” Zayn mumbles. He’s still a bit too drained to muster up proper nerves, but he knows—“I should have, I can—”

“Just—touch me?” Harry grits out. “Please, just, it’s, whatever you do to yourself, please, I need—”

So Zayn does, because Harry gave him this, because it’s Harry and he wants, wants to explore every inch of him. So he reaches between them and drags a finger up Harry’s cock. Harry’s breath hisses, and Zayn closes his palm around it.

It’s weird. He tries to do what he does to himself, but the angle’s all off, and he knows he isn’t doing what he likes girls to do to him, but the mere touch is making Harry bite into his shoulder, and it only takes a few tugs before Harry’s coming, his voice muffled in Zayn’s skin.

He collapses next to Zayn. Normally, when they cuddle, it’s Harry’s head on Zayn’s chest, and Zayn playing with his hair, but this time…this time, it’s Zayn who curls his body in next to Harry’s, who lets Harry run his hands through his sweaty hair for what feels like hours before he says anything.

“Was that…” he starts, then trails off.

“Think I should be asking you that.” Harry’s hands are gentle on his head, and his heart’s beating hard and strong in his chest. “You okay?”

Zayn takes stock before he answers. He’s sore, he thinks sort of vaguely; he feels sticky and a little gross in the way sex always feels. But, “Yeah,” he says, and presses a kiss to Harry’s shoulder because he can. “Yeah, it was, like, it was good.”

“Good.” Harry’s nails catch a bit in his hair, dig just the tiniest bit into his scalp so he bites back the urge to purr. He’s not—he won’t be that person. He doesn’t even know what Harry wants, more than this. It’s just fucking. He knows that. He’s done that. “I’m, you know, honored, I guess? That I was your first?”

Zayn huffs out a laugh. It’s such a _Harry_ thing to say. “I’ve had sex before, babe.”

“Shush. I like to pretend you haven’t.”

“Kinky.”

“Yeah…” Harry says, and it’s an evasion, Zayn knows, but he’s still feeling blissed out and he doesn’t want to press. “But really. I’m glad you trust me enough.”

Zayn lifts his head up at that, so he can look at Harry. Harry’s smiling softly at him, all fondness, in the way he gets sometimes when he thinks Zayn is being particularly sweet. “You know it wasn’t, like, that I just figured out about guys, or that I wanted to get fucked. I thought about it ‘cause it’s you.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s smile blooms into something pleased and dimpling and a bit smug, and Zayn can’t resist poking at a dimple.

“Yeah.”

Harry just keeps smiling, and pulls Zayn up a bit to kiss him, the lightest pressure of his lips that suddenly turns more serious when Zayn nips at his lower lip.

It’s Zayn who pulls back this time. Harry’s flushed and his eyes are glowing and there’s still so much naked skin Zayn wants to explore. “So I’ve been thinking…” he says, biting at his lip. What if Harry doesn’t—well, he thinks he does, but what if…

“Yeah?” Harry’s starting to smirk, like he knows, and so Zayn can smirk back, slide his hand down Harry’s torso to his navel.

“Yeah.”

“Thank God.” With another quick motion, they’ve rolled, and Harry ends up on top even if it’s only Zayn’s quick readjustment that keeps them on the bed. “There’s so much I want to show you.” He gives Zayn a stern glare. “Now tell me what you like, okay? And what you don’t. You’ve got to talk to me.” He couples the glare with a roll of his hips, so Zayn can feel that he’s starting to get hard again. But then he stills, just looking at Zayn.

“ _Harry_.”

“What?” Harry gives Zayn a long, slow look, head to toes, laughter warring with his heat in his gaze. “I’m deciding where to start.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to talk about it? Comment or come say hi on [ tumblr!](http://ridiculouslittleidiots.tumblr.com/)


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